


Do you smell that?

by Devral



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Deadpool's severed arm, Fluff, M/M, Violence against tacos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 15:31:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19444327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devral/pseuds/Devral
Summary: Five times Peter smelled something amazing and the one time he finally figured out where it was coming from.Spideypool Bingo Prompt: Phantom Scent





	Do you smell that?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to all the amazing people over at the Isn't it Bromantic 18+ Spideypool discord server! They gave me this idea and I ran with it. 
> 
> Thanks as always to my best cheerleaders, DramamineOnTopOfMe and TheDevilOnioah
> 
> And thanks to Aerographer for betareading for me!

The first time Peter smells it is just like any other Taco Tuesday with Wade. This time it’s a Saturday and the tacos are from Taco Bell. Wade just pulled his mask up to his nose and stuffed half a taco in his mouth as the smell suddenly hits Peter’s nose. 

“Do you smell that?” Peter asks abruptly, dragging deep breaths in through his nose as he sets his food down. It definitely isn’t the tacos that he is smelling. Some small, elusive scent keeps wafting around him. 

“Smell what?” Wade’s question is garbled and he splatters the roof in front of him with chewed up taco as he asks. 

Peter shakes his head, still inhaling deeply through his nose, trying to identify the scent. Wade’s head is turned toward him now, tilted inquisitively.

“I don’t know, really. It just- something just smells  _ really good.” _

“I don’t smell anything.” Wade crams the rest of his taco in his mouth, “ ‘cept tacos!”

Peter laughs. They have tacos almost every single time they patrol together and it never fails to surprise him how much Wade loves tacos. Between the two of them they can usually put away a truly astonishing amount but Wade still beats Peter out for most tacos eaten in one night. 

“It’s not tacos, for sure. We have them most nights, I think I recognize the smell by now. I don’t know, it’s driving me a little nuts. I can’t figure out what it is.” Giving up on locating the smell, he finally starts eating. Mouth now full, he mumbles out, “These are good tacos, though.”

* * *

The second time he smells it, a couple weeks later, Deadpool has dragged him to a Mexican restaurant in the name of Taco Tuesday. It’s a Monday and they’re eating chimichangas. Wade has four orders in front of him and Peter has two. 

Wade has his mask up to his nose and is half way through his first plate when the smell hits Peter’s nose. He pauses two bites into his first chimichanga, inhaling through his nose, eyelids fluttering. 

“What  _ is  _ that smell?” Peter asks, inhaling as much of the smell as he can and humming in pleasure. 

Wade’s cheeks bulge with food and Peter can see chewed up chimichanga around his grinning teeth as he answers. “Yeah, it smells pretty good in here, huh? That’s how I found it! I was out minding my own business, just helping little old ladies across streets when I followed my nose to this place! I ate my weight in chimichangas the first time I was here and I just had to bring you here, baby boy!” He pauses here to cram another huge bite of chimichanga in his mouth before continuing, now fighting to keep all the food contained in his mouth as he talks, “Was I right or was I right?”

But that definitely isn’t what Peter is smelling. It doesn’t smell like something he wants to eat. It smells like something he wants to bury himself in while he rolls around in joy. 

Wade is still staring at him expectantly. Peter lets that phantom smell wash over him again and smiles, “Yeah. It smells  _ really good.” _

* * *

The third time he smells it is a little different. It’s a Tuesday and they aren’t actually eating any food. He’s just finished a fight against some ninjas with Deadpool and Daredevil and that elusive smell is mixed with the scent of gunpowder and blood, but still distinct enough to make Peter want to chase it down and bury his nose as deep into it as possible. 

Peter looks around and he doesn’t see anything unusual. Daredevil is leaning against the alley wall, arms crossed. Deadpool is bending over to pick up his severed left arm, half his face exposed to show his scowl through a slice in his mask.

“Do you smell that?” Peter asks Daredevil.

The other super tilts his head at Peter inquisitively, “Smell what? All I can smell is alleyway and Deadpool. You know, that overwhelming smell of blood, guns, and Mexican spices?”

“That’s definitely not it. I mean, yeah, I smell that, but-” Peter is interrupted by a shout from Deadpool. When he turns to look, Wade is waving his severed hand at him, grin now visible through the slash in his mask. 

“Hey, think you could lend a hand over here, Spidey? As you can see,” he shakes the severed arm in their direction again. “I’m down one.”

Peter shrugs over at Daredevil as he hears him sigh exasperatedly. Turning, he heads toward Deadpool. Might as well help him reattach his limb instead of having to listen to him whine about regrowing it for the rest of the night. 

* * *

The fourth time he smells it he’s managed to persuade Wade that maybe they should do Pizza Friday instead of Taco Tuesday. It’s Friday and they’ve had some kind of tex mex food every time they’ve eaten together for the last month. Peter is ready for something a little different.  


He almost regrets making the choice for pizza, though. He can barely contain his horror as he watches Wade consume a large pineapple, sardine, and olive pizza. He’s got his gloves off and tossed on the rooftop beside him and his mask up to the bridge of his nose. They’ve had the pizza for less than five minutes and Wade is already on his fourth slice. He’s crammed three quarters of the slice in his mouth and his cheeks bulge comically as he chews. 

Peter absently grabs a second slice of his plain pepperoni pizza, still staring in horrified fascination. 

He’s started on his third slice and Wade is on his eighth, waving his hands around and rambling around a mouthful pizza when Peter smells that amazing smell once again. He freezes, slowly setting his pizza slice back in the box and inhaling deeply. 

The strongest scent is Wade’s pizza, but underneath that he can smell his own pepperoni pizza, the tang of blood and gunpowder that always seems to hang around Wade, and that phantom scent that he really only ever smells when he’s spending time with Wade. 

“Spidey?” Wade notices Peter’s distraction. 

“You really don’t smell that, Wade?” Peter asks, still huffing in air through his nose, trying to pull in more of that perfect smell. It’s just a tiny thread of scent and yet it seems to be coming from all around them. Peter can’t pinpoint the direction it’s coming from no matter how hard he tries. 

“You know, you’ve asked me that before. What do you even keep smelling?” Wade tilts his head in confusion.

“I don’t know! It smells  _ so good _ but I just can’t figure out where it’s coming from! And I don’t smell it all the time!” Peter exclaims, exasperated. 

“Weird,” Wade grunts, cramming the last slice of his pizza in his mouth. 

Peter finally gives his search for the scent up as a bad job, grumpily chomping into his pizza again. 

* * *

The fifth time he smells it, later that same night, he’s not even anywhere near Deadpool. He’s at home and he notices that he accidentally grabbed one of the other man’s gloves instead of his own. 

As soon as he notices, he pulls his mask off, yanks the glove off his hand and buries his nose in the fabric. There it is! Deadpool’s glove is saturated in the smell underneath the smell of blood, gunpowder, and sweat. 

How could he have missed that it must have been coming from Deadpool this whole time?

Taking one more deep sniff of the glove, he tosses it on his bedside table and flops onto his back on his bed, grinning up at the ceiling.

* * *

The sixth time Peter smells it is yet another Taco Tuesday. This time it’s actually a Tuesday, and they got their tacos from a dubious overnight street stand. But Peter isn’t worried about the tacos. He has just about had enough. It’s impossible to eat with this kind of distraction! 

Wade’s mask is pulled up as he eats his tacos and he’s talking away, like usual. But Peter hears none of what Wade is saying. He’s too busy focusing on that  _ amazing smell _ that he is almost certain is coming from Wade after all. He’s been hunting it down now for weeks and he only smells it during these Taco Tuesdays or when Wade’s costume has been compromised. There was also no mistaking that the amazing smell was coming from Wade’s glove, last Friday night. 

This time he doesn’t stop himself and he’s crowding into Wade’s space, sniffing at the air near the other man. “Seriously, what  _ is  _ that smell! It’s got to be coming from you, nothing else makes sense!”

“What?” Wade subtly leans away, mask creased in confusion.

Peter just presses closer, nose almost touching the skin at Wade’s neck, “Did you start using cologne? Did something change with your mutation? You smell  _ really different.” _

“Uh… Since, uh, when? I mean- I’ve started using skin lotion? But I’ve never noticed a smell and no one else has said anything?”

But Peter’s self control is gone and he’s too busy scrambling into Wade’s lap and pressing his face fully into the other man’s neck to acknowledge the words. 

Wade keeps talking, tension rising, “I’ve definitely had people complain about the way I smell before this, though? Sorry? I mean, I showered this morning, I’ve been good about showering at least a couple times a week! But maybe I didn’t this time, I dunno. Hmm, white? Did I shower this morning? Well, you keep track of these things! Well, yeah! But showers are nearly as important as guns!” 

Wade shakes his head hard, almost bashing ears with Peter, “Uh, anyway, that could be what you smell?”

Peter is still huffing at Wade’s neck as Wade rambles on, words speeding up with his flaring anxiety. Wade’s hands are held out to the side very obviously, a smushed taco dripping its insides to the roof clutched in his right. “Um, can you get off me?”

“You smell amazing,” Peter mumbles, smashing his face even harder into Wade’s neck.

“Thank you?” Wade says, hesitantly bringing his left hand in to wrap gently around Peter’s back. “Are you- uh, are you going to let me go?”

Peter shakes his head, still buried as deeply into Wade’s neck as he can get it. “No,” he mumbles, slightly resentfully. “I’ve been trying to figure out this smell for weeks! Now you get to hold still and let me enjoy it.”

Wade stays silent and still other than his hand pulling Peter’s body a little more firmly into his lap. 

Peter freezes after a second, though, and pulls back to peer up at what he can see of Wade’s face. He doesn’t seem shocked or put off anymore, but there was really no way to be sure without asking. Wade has relaxed his right arm, dropping the destroyed taco to the rooftop, but is otherwise sitting and not doing anything. 

That’s not at all typical for the man. 

“Unless it bothers you? I mean- I don’t  _ have  _ to sit here and sniff you. Sorry,” Peter starts to sit back. 

Wade’s right arm comes up to join his left, stopping Peter from moving very far, “No. It’s fine.”

He gently urges Peter’s head back into his neck, now actively cuddling Peter back. ”I don’t mind,” his voice has an edge of awe lining it. 

Peter doesn’t know how long they sit like that, the night air gently drifting around him and his new favorite smell filling his nose. 


End file.
